Charms, Transfiguration, and Language
by walkingcensure
Summary: [One-Shot] She likes Charms; he likes Transfiguration. She's reading transfiguration; he's reading... well... language. And love.


**Charms, Transfiguration, and Language**

- - - - -

I walked swiftly into the library, intent on finding the book that I needed. This was quite the task though and I frowned slightly, since I had no idea exactly what the book that I needed was supposed to be. Thinking rapidly while my pace never faltered, I sighed and docked quietly into the Charms section of the expansive library after having smiled my greeting to Madam Pince, who had been a friend since first year.

I chastised myself inwardly as my fingers brushed gently against the spines of the large, tattered, ancient books that would have accumulated a great amount of dust had it not been for me, who had been taking them out, putting them back, taking them out, and putting them back for the past four years or so. I couldn't help it. Charms was something I held very dear to my heart.

My fingers brushed against boldly embossed, wavy, gold letters that altogether spelled:_ "When Charms and Transfiguration Unite…"_

I squeezed it out from between two other books and placed it gently on my arm, where I stared at it briefly and wondered about the purpose of the ellipsis. I decided that I'd explore into it later, after I find my book, which I had been reminded of by the word _transfiguration_. I grumbled deep in my throat. I hated transfiguration essays. Transfiguration was the bane of my existence.

…Along with a certain and particularly cumbersome transfiguration-proficient lout, if I should say so. I bet that if he stopped being the arrogant git that he is, he'd actually be an okay person. Too bad old habits die hard. He'll never be cured. Serves him right, though. The bloody prick.

I shook my head as I put my attention back to what I was supposed to be doing. When something's about him, I always get sidetracked. It must be the prickiness.

I heaved the bulky book upon my forearm and headed toward the Transfiguration section, which I tried to avoid as much as I possibly could. I started heaping books into a nearby table, hoping that at least one of them would have what I was looking for, which still remained unknown to me.

After the last book, _Altruism in Transfiguration_­—which I laughed since I knew well enough that there was no such thing as "altruism in transfiguration"—I went back to the table that I had been dumping my books on. I stopped when I was about four feet away from it.

Sitting on my table, almost but not completely concealed by the tower of books, was someone with messy black hair and the indecency to rest their feet (clad in muddy, I-was-just-over-by-the-Quidditch-field trainers) so peacefully on top of a gleaming oak table in a clean, orderly library. I walked quickly toward the table and he looked up from the book he was reading just in time.

"Evans!" he greeted jauntily. "Never thought I'd see someone like _you_ round here." That of course was a complete lie. He knew I went there everyday. He, along with his little clique, along with the entire population of Hogwarts, knew very well that I was an introverted bookworm.

I glared at him and tried to carry three huge books at a time, during which I almost snapped my back due to the excessive weight in my arms. He watched me with amusement before standing up and taking the books away from me, handling them with ease. That did nothing but make me loathe him even more.

"Don't tell me you're taking this bunch to the common room with you. I know you're studious and all, Evans, but really…" He whistled as he motioned his head toward my book stack.

"I'm not," I answered. "I was actually moving them to another table since _you_ stole mine." Well, that sounded very childish, but it doesn't matter.

He scrunched up his nose. "Real mature, Little Miss Head Girl. Look," —he set the books back down— "if it makes you happy, then keep this table and I'll go take another one." He flashed me a quick smile before summoning his book and turning his back on me. I huffed and sat down, glad that he was gone yet still miffed about something.

I knew, as I picked up my third book fifteen minutes later, that he had been watching me the whole time. I looked up to see him buried behind his book, which, funnily enough (and very ironically considering he is who he was), had on its cover a Chinese character that I was quite sure stood for the word _love_. I ignored it and went back to finding an easy, advanced level topic for my transfiguration essay. I got distracted and looked up again. My curiosity piqued. I cleared my throat and asked as casually as I could, "Potter, what are you reading?"

His bespectacled hazel eyes emerged from behind the red, leather cover. He tapped the cover with one finger. "Let the Chinese character be my terse response."

I couldn't hide my smirk. "Is it a book about love?" I asked sardonically.

He rolled his eyes at me, and I felt odd, knowing that I was usually the one who did the eye-roll more often. "It's not a book about love. It's a book on how to _say_ love in different languages." He rolled his eyes again.

I tilted my head slightly to the right and watched him. "Why are you reading it?"

"I happen to think that language is very… remarkable." I could see his neck starting to redden, but he stood up, very confidently went to my table, and sat down across from me. "Very educational, too," he added. "Do you know how to say 'I love you' in… Farsi?"

I shook my head no.

"_Tora dust midaram_."

"What?"

"I love you."

I raised my eyebrows and he raised his eyebrows back in question. I raised my eyebrows higher and then his eyes widened in realization and he coughed nervously. "I meant… that… you know… _tora dust midaram_ means… _that_ in Farsi."

I sniggered and he glared at me. "Well," I said, opting for my defense, "I know how to say it in French, Spanish, and German."

He gave me a defiant stare, as if asking me to prove it, so I did. I held my head up high, smiled, and said, "Je t'aime. Te amo. Ich liebe dich."

"Yes, well, everyone knows that."

I shrugged and looked back down at my book. He didn't leave like I hoped he would, but instead shuffled through my stuff and looked at the book that I had first gotten: "_When Charms and Transfiguration Unite_…"

"Evans," he said.

"Hm?"

"What is the ellipsis for?"

"I don't know," I answered indifferently. "I was wondering about that, too."

"Ah," he nodded. "Looks incredibly old. And I've never seen a book title with ellipsis in it ever before." He lifted the front cover and I watched, equally as curious. He read the delicate engraving in the front page and grinned.

"What?" I asked. He turned the book around and shoved it at me. Above the page were the words in the cover (minus the mysterious ellipsis) and below that was a short little passage. I read it twice and bit my lip.

_When Charms and Transfiguration unite _

_The most astounding magic arise_

_'Tis not the wound that makes it tempting_

_'Tis the healing behind the fire. _

I frowned. "How very… cryptic."

"Cryptic, yes… but oddly _symbolic_ nonetheless." He smirked. I grimaced.

"It doesn't make any sense," I commented tersely, even though I thought the same thing about it. Oddly symbolic. I was Charms… and he was…

"Transfiguration…" he murmured under his breath as he read the covers of the other books. "Are you working on that essay already?"

"Yes."

He nodded in understanding and grinned at me. It was a very lovely smile, but I figured he was just being sneaky and conniving as always. He kept that smile, though, and my stomach wobbled pleasantly.

He stood up and pushed the book that he had been reading earlier—the one with the leather cover and the Chinese character—toward me. "I'll leave it to you, Evans," he said. "Go learn a few things yourself. G'night."

It wasn't until he was a yard from the door that I turned around and said, "G'night, James."

He paused and I saw see his back go stiff. He didn't turn to look at me, but he nodded slightly. "See yah," —he paused— "…Lily."

I turned quickly to my books and smiled widely there, just in case he turned around and caught me. Apparently, though, he wasn't finished yet. "_Wo ai ni_, Head Girl," he said in the softest voice before he was out of the library in a flurry of robes.

Almost instantly, I grabbed his book and stared at the cover. And there it was—right below the Chinese character, in minuscule silver letters—_Wo Ai Ni_.

Of course, I was never one to believe or settle for anything that quickly. So I opened the book and turned the pages to the section where the translation was arranged alphabetically rather than the language. I bolted through the pages… _ash miliu tave… gwa ai lee… ikh hob dikh lib… lubim ta… mahal kita… namumutan ta ka… obicham te… szeretlek te'ged… tangsinul sarang ha yo… volim te…_ Then I found it. It was under Chinese, Mandarin to be more specific.

_Wo ai ni. : I love you._

I watched the page for a moment, not exactly understanding what it was telling me. And then it clicked. I gasped lightly, partly because of what I had just found out, what I had been dreading, and what I had surprisingly been hoping for. And there, for the first time in seventeen years, in the library, with its walls and tables and chairs and shelves and books as the only witnesses, I giggled for James Potter.

* * *

There you go. A pointless, plotless, not to mention LAME, little one-shot that I wrote because of… I actually don't remember why. But anyway… yeah, it sucks, I know. And please do find it in your heart to forgive the little "passage" from the book. I don't know why I even did that.

And... I'm not exactly sure on the accuracy of those I love you translations, but in case you wanted to know, I got them from here (remember to delete the spaces in the URL): www. columbia. edu/sss31/rainbow/i-love-you .html


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